


The kind I like to meet

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-20
Updated: 2009-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:18:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To catch a criminal,  Harry has to go undercover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The kind I like to meet

**Author's Note:**

> Auror!fic; Written for the [Crossdressing Festlet](http://megyal.livejournal.com/269629.html). Title from the song ['Pretty Woman'](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uw0fngpM2GY), by Roy Orbison. I love that purr that Roy Orbison does, I always laugh when I hear him do it.  
>  **Betas:** [](http://okubyo-kitsune.livejournal.com/profile)[**okubyo_kitsune**](http://okubyo-kitsune.livejournal.com/) and [](http://winnett.livejournal.com/profile)[**winnett**](http://winnett.livejournal.com/).

"Hurry up," Auror Malfoy snapped at the closed door of the men's loo in the Auror's changing-room. He tugged at the left sleeve of his thick black jumper. The night would be cold, and his team would be out in it for a long time.

Draco hated undercover jobs, mainly because he had to spend so long in Harry Potter's presence; not that he still despised Potter. They'd worked on the Blue Phoenix unit together for far too long for either of them still to harbour resentment. Perhaps saving each other's lives played a part in that.

That wasn't the problem at all. The problem was that he liked Auror Potter, and liked him a _lot_.

"Keep your knickers on," Potter's muffled voice returned from behind the door. "If I'm going to be all uncomfortable in... my god, where in the world did you get these boots?"

"Thomas sourced them." Draco folded his arms and leaned against the door. "There's this Muggle shop that makes them special, for those of ogre-like proportions such as yourself."

"Shut up. I thought the reason that I'm the one forced into this get-up is because I'm the shortest and have the smallest feet. By the way, shut up again," Potter ordered darkly when Draco opened his mouth to mock him mercilessly. "I'm _not_ that short. You and Dean and Ron are monsters, and the rest of us look like midgets around you."

"Stunted," Draco lectured lightly, drawn out of his previous crabby mood. It was a fortunate side-effect, he found, whenever he conversed with Potter like this. "That's what you are, Potter, stunted in both stature and mental prowess."

"Words, words." Potter made a considering grunt as he adjusted something. "You were only ever good at words, Malfoy and not much else. You know... this isn't half bad."

Draco actually laughed out loud. "Oh my goodness--"

"I swear, I won't tell you anything again," Potter said, trying to sound injured, but it only came out as half-amused. "But I make this look good."

Draco stepped back as the door was unlocked and pulled open. He stared down at the thigh-high boots cladding Potter's legs, heels dangerously high and managed to drag his eyes up, lighting on the miles of mesh-covered thighs and the short flared skirt.

Potter was tugging at the hem of the skirt, looking down at himself critically as Draco inspected the tight red blouse, the plunging neckline that only revealed that he was all male, and the large collar. He had done something to his hair, so that instead of the usual riotous waves, it hung in a straight fall to his shoulders, a long bob that framed his face; the blunt cut of it actually softened the line of his jaw. He even had a thick fringe of hair covering his forehead, a severely straight line over his eyebrows; Draco wondered idly how long his hair would endure such a style until it forcibly reverted to its normal messy state.

In any case, Potter looked completely different and wholly mouth-watering. His ever-present glasses were gone, replaced by contacts that he rarely wore, no matter how much Draco heard his friends harp on him about it. He even had makeup on, a lipstick that was red enough to cover the sides of fire-engines and the dark eyeliner seemed to make the green of his eyes glow.

He did indeed have the figure to be dressed as their bait tonight, Draco concluded, letting his eyes follow the curve of Potter's waist, revealed by the tightness of his blouse. Potter raised his head and stared back at Draco.

"Looks good, right?" he asked quietly. There was something slightly different about his voice: the pitch was a bit higher than usual. Potter flushed, looking away and Draco realised he had been staring for far too long.

"It's adequate," he said, aiming for sounding professional and coming out on the wrong side of curt. Potter's shoulders hunched into a tense line that Draco hadn't seen in a long time and Draco mentally smacked his palm to his forehead. "I mean... it's more than adequate, actually. You look incredible, Harry."

Potter's wide-eyed glance was full of surprise and Draco didn't really blame him. He had never called Potter by his first name before; all these years of being on the elite Blue Phoenix and Draco had tried his best to keep aloof and apart from his team-mates. They'd managed to get under his skin, though, especially Potter. But there was a major part of him that would always be a dastardly secretive Malfoy, and he would never shake off that habit of always keeping people at arm's length.

Although, looking at the way Potter was standing, hips tilted in an unconsciously sultry manner, he realized he'd have to find a way to get him far closer.

"I--" Potter cleared his throat quickly and ran one hand down the soft material covering the other arm. "I actually like the feel of it. The whole get-up, I mean," he admitted and went red again. "Oh crap, why do I always tell you shit like this. Now you're going to find some way to use it against me, or something."

"I wouldn't," Draco blurted; they both blinked at his deeply convicted tone and Draco tried to cover his own surprise with a toothy leer. "I mean, everyone has a kink. And if the Golden Boy finds out that he likes parading around looking like a woman of the night, then who am I to take that away from him?"

"Oh, you're absolutely right, Malfoy," Potter returned with a small wry tilt of his lips; if it was one thing he had gained since they'd left Hogwarts, it was the ability to take most of Draco's mocking and absorb it with equanimity, only to return it with dark glee sooner or later. Draco had to use his most snarky arsenal if he wanted to truly upset Potter, and he didn't have the heart to reach down that far these days.

"And if everyone has a kink, what's yours?" Potter continued with deceptively wide eyes. There was a thick choker around his neck with a silver pendant, and Potter had raised one hand to touch at it with fingers that had red nails. "Is it... men wearing very high boots? Maybe even keeping them on during... you know."

Well. One point for Potter. A very kinky point, and Potter had been fighting a blush as he spoke, but still.

"Possibly." Draco leered at him even more, because if they were going to play this game, then Potter would learn that he was playing with the _best_. "I also like my men in skirts so short they can't take a good breath for fear of revealing all their natural wonders."

"Oh," Potter said faintly and Draco was mentally giving himself a point when Potter asked contemplatively: "How about lacy knickers?" and Draco actually forgot what he was tallying. "Think about it," Potter advised in a sultry manner and was about to say something else when Thomas sailed into the room, took a look at Potter and went, "Harry, you look like every wet dream I've ever had."

"Thank you, Dean." Potter gave _him_ a shy smile. "Ready?"

"As ready as we can be." Thomas offered his arm. "Shall we, my lady?"

Potter laughed and took his arm, and threw Draco a narrow, challenging look over his shoulder. Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise as they exited, making their way down to the garages where the nondescript Muggle vehicles were kept.

One more point for Potter.

*

"How's your angle, Thomas?" Draco said quietly in the direction of his collar. Slumped down in the front passenger seat of the car, his fair hair covered with a soft, knitted cap, he peered out of the window at Harry, who was leaning against a wall a few paces away from the busy entrance to a Muggle club. Regular glances of interest trailed over Potter's body from those who passed by, even those dressed as he was. A short fur stole hugged his shoulders as meagre protection against the crisp night air, and since Potter couldn't cast any warming spells, his legs were probably very cold.

Those nicely shaped, lovely legs. Lovely, lovely--

"Seeing everything perfectly, Malfoy." Thomas' calm voice cut into Draco's mental foray, carried to his ear by a subtle communications spell. Thomas was stationed on the roof of one of the narrow buildings facing the club, ready to Apparate to Harry at any sign of danger. They were dealing with an imbalanced wizard or witch, one who had killed six crossdressing men in as many months.

News of the murders had only recently reached the Aurors. The Muggle law enforcement had locked-down information on the case, mainly because they had no idea about the causes of death. All they had were dead men in alleyways, eyes wide and blank.

A Squib detective, recently promoted and assigned to this case, had recognised the use of the Killing Curse and had wasted no more time in shared the details with the Aurors. Draco was surprised to find that he rather liked Detective Foster. A tall, narrow-faced man, he had assisted them in setting up this particular operation, narrowing down the pattern of murders to this particular club.

"Call me if there's anything," Detective Foster had requested, and some instinct in Draco, honed after years of stake-outs, pointed to a strong possibility of this call.

Now, Potter put on a good show of someone impatient for his date to turn up. He gazed up and down the street with an irritated frown, even sighing and stamping his feet now and again. The murdered men had all arrived at the club alone, lone prey for a crazed predator, and Potter was playing the part to the hilt for whoever might be watching.

Finally, he heaved a heavy sigh and moved towards the entrance, reaching into a small handbag hanging off his arm; it was red and sparkly, borrowed from one of the female Aurors. He took out a neatly folded bill, handed it to the bouncer at the door, and gained entrance without looking back.

"Alright," Thomas murmured as Draco exhaled slowly. "Now, we wait."

*

"Malfoy," Thomas said warningly, but it was unnecessary. Malfoy's attention was already focused as Potter weaved out of the entrance, supported by a strange man. Most likely, Potter had all his magic pulled close to himself, to prevent detection by another wizard. He was looking up in his new companion's face, eyes blankly intent.

"Think that's him?" Draco whispered, feeling his voice hum away from him and passing through the communications link; if that man really _was_ the killer, Draco hoped that he wouldn't detect this particular spell. He didn't appear aware of it so far and Draco made a mental note to thank Granger for her painstaking work.

"Yes," Thomas replied instantly. "I can see his magic through the scry-glass. He's concentrating most of it on Harry."

Draco's lips curled up into a lightly amused sneer. This man obviously didn't know who he was dealing with, using _Imperius_ on Potter like that. Potter stumbled and the man pulled him closer, murmuring in his ear. Potter nodded slowly, and they set off down the darkened street. Most of the revellers were still inside the club; Draco had heard the music pulsing when Potter and the mark had exited.

"Do we move in?"

"Wait," Draco ordered. "He hasn't done anything as yet. We need more than this."

"Suppose he tries something on Harry?" Thomas fretted; after a few beats, he actually laughed lightly. "Oh, I'd like to see him try."

Draco only smiled. "Alright, we're in tracking mode," he said and started the vehicle, putting it into gear.

"Acknowledged," Thomas said and there was a quick shadow flitting across the sidewalk a few feet from the parking space from which Draco was now pulling out. Thomas had a far better view, and he also had that round scry-glass firmly affixed over one eye; He would keep an eye on Harry and relay the information back to Draco.

Which he did a few moments later, with an urgent, "Malfoy, they've turned into an alley and his magical signature has changed. He's intending to kill. I'm Apparating, get ready to be pulled."

Draco braced himself as the ring on his left finger grew warm, and he was portkeyed right to Thomas' location. He only had a flash of his surroundings, mildewed brick walls and a line of dubious underwear, before Thomas seized him by the arm and Apparated them both down to where Harry was.

"Aurors!" he bellowed as soon as he felt his feet touch the ground. Thomas had cast some sort of _Protego_ around Harry, who was actually grappling with the suspect on the ground. His mesh stockings were torn and his skirt rode up as he finally bested the other man, kneeling on his back and grabbing at his wrists to drag around. Draco managed to drag his eyes away from a glimpse of something frilly underneath the skirt, and cast a manacle spell around the wrists that had almost slipped out of Harry's grip. Their suspect was writhing and cursing, calling Harry all sorts of names as they rolled him over.

"Whore!" he was screaming, his eyes wild. "Fucking.... you nasty slut, not even a real man--"

A part of Draco wanted to reach out and actually choke this man; he was surprised at the vehemence behind this desire, and he had to content himself with reaching down and hauling the man up.

"You're under arrest," he said as flatly as he dared. He would be shouting if he allowed himself to talk any louder. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Harry throwing him a quick, curious glance.

"What? You think I have anything to do with this fucking pouf?" The man spat, glaring at Harry. He was slim and wiry, with eyes that were bright with malice. "What the hell are you all doing?"

"We're taking you in under intent to use the Killing Curse," Thomas said calmly, and a range of emotions flitted over the man's face, before he tightened his lips. "Also, you are under the suspicion of using the Killing Curse in previous murders. Tiger?"

Harry grinned at the use of his code-name. He held up a wand and the suspect, who had appeared ready to start cursing again, went still. "I got it from his pocket when he finished casting Imperius on me."

"I wonder," Draco mused softly, "what a _Priori Incantatem_ will tell us about the activities of this wand. Your name, sir."

The man was breathed heavily and did not answer.

"No worries!" Harry said with dark cheer. "We'll know your name soon enough. You do have the right to remain silent," he continued in more official tones. "You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in front of the Wizengamot. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

"Fuck you," the man finally muttered, sneering at Harry again. "Fuck you and fuck everyone like you."

"Luckily, you can't," Harry retorted as Draco hauled him off to the vehicle. "Not anymore."

*

"What a fucking mess," Draco groaned as soon as the interrogation was over, stumbling into the small space he called his office to put down the scribbled notes of his report on his desk. He would neaten that later to hand in to Shacklebolt. The wand and the results from the scry-glass had been tagged and sent to the evidence room.

He and Thomas had not managed to get much out of the man, except for the perfectly ordinary name of William Brown, but his wand had spoken enough for him. Whatever reasons he had for murdering those men, Draco was leaving up to the courts to find out; briefly, he wondered if he should have pursued the post of Wizengamot Prosecutor, as his mother had hoped. It was still possible, actually; but he might never get the chance to see Potter in a short little number again.

The short little number that Potter was _still_ dressed in, Draco noted as he turned to see Potter leaning against the unsteady frame of his doorway.

"My stockings are all torn," Potter said quietly, his head down as he brushed at the front of his skirt. His hair was starting to curl again. In a few moments or so, it would be back to its normal bristly mode.

Draco nodded. "I noticed. Apparently, stockings tend to do that when you're rolling around on the ground with suspects."

Harry peeked at him from under that from under the still-straight line of his fringe, and smiled a little. "You'll keep my secret, won't you?"

"What secret?" Draco asked, a little breathlessly as he stepped closer to Harry.

"The fact that I'm not going to give these clothes back," Harry murmured, returning his glance back to his skirt. "I mean... I like them. I like how I feel in them."

"If that's the way you feel," Draco advised, stopping his approach; this seemed to be a fairly serious issue for Harry. "Then no-one should tell you otherwise. Trust me, I have a little experience with people telling me what they think I _should_ do, and not what I feel happy doing."

Harry appeared to consider this for a very long time, and then gave a quick nod which appeared to be more for himself than Draco. He looked up at Draco in that direct manner of his.

"Thanks," he said quietly, and turned to leave. Draco opened his mouth to call him back, to say something, _anything_ : Maybe: _Hey Harry, I've fancied you for a long time and I'd like to get into your dress, if you don't mind_. Or: _Potter, what did you have to say about those knickers again?_. Or even: _Harry, whatever you like to put on, I really like what's under it._

Possibly, he should try being more Malfoy-ish: _Potter, if you don't come over here and give me a kiss, I'll tell everyone you like putting on women's clothes._

He was shaking his head over that last one, when Harry was suddenly standing in front of him again; the heels he had on gave him those few inches needed to be eye-to-eye with Draco. He had a small smile on his face, and he was leaning in before Draco could say anything. His lips brushed tentatively against Draco's, and he tilted his head, angling their mouths together. Draco manfully resisted the urge to slide his hands up under Harry's skirt and squeeze a handful of bottom; one day, and one day soon, he would be able to do that, but right now he could enjoy this slow, almost shy kiss, Harry pressing in closer and making soft, almost breathless sounds.

Harry pulled away from him abruptly and Draco noted in a dazed manner that his hair had finally snapped back from the severe straight style, to the brambly mess.

He touched one of the wild dark twisted locks almost helplessly, and then placed his hand lightly on Harry's face. Harry pressed his lips to Draco's palm, smiled lightly and was gone in a moment, the hem of his skirt flicking up as he darted out the door.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck and grinned so hard to himself, he almost broke his face. He didn't need to be that Malfoy-ish, after all.

In any case, he was pretty much _invested_ in Harry's so-called secret, boots, skirt and all.

 _fin_


End file.
